


Red Line

by DiurnalDays



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alchemy, Avalon - Freeform, Battle, Crossover, England is a BAMF, Fate, Holy Grail War (Fate), Homunculi, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Magecraft, Magic, Master/Servant, Not in a kinky way though, Post-Apocalypse, Reboot of an older fic, Slow Burn, Summoning, brief mention of canon fate characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23335624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiurnalDays/pseuds/DiurnalDays
Summary: As the beautiful man stepped closer to Alfred, his sharp facial features came into view, sharp cheekbones accentuated by thin lips and rather thick eyebrows. His emerald eyes glowed from within with golden light.And then, the man met Alfred’s awestruck gaze.“I ask you, are you my Master?” the man asked, voice richly accented.--Or, Fate series and Hetalia crossover where Alfred is a young magus fighting in his first Holy Grail War and England is the Rider-class Servant he summons as his familiar. UKUS
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So, I decided to reboot Fate/National because I wasn’t liking where it was going. This fic, instead of featuring America and England as Servants, features Alfred as a student mage at the Mage's Association in London and England as a Servant, with a mixture of Hetalia characters filling out the rest of the cast. Hopefully the world-building will be clear even to people who aren’t familiar with the Mariana Trench of lore that comprises the Fate franchise, haha.
> 
> I’m prioritizing updates to Tigers in the Sky over this fic, but I hope you’ll enjoy this fic regardless of the speed at which updates will come.

Before that day, Alfred never even dreamed of finding freedom, much less fighting for it.

Ever since Alfred was a child, he’d admired the superheroes and knights of old in the comic books that his baby brother Matthew somehow snuck past their father’s watchful eyes. Alfred and Matthew would then steal away together into a dark closet in a corner of the Gallofield family mansion and read stories to each other in hushed whispers by the light of a candle.

Sometimes they’d grab a lamp or a toothbrush and do battle down the hallways when nobody but the golden-haired homunculus maids were at home. Every time, Alfred won after a long and hard swordfight, Matthew would jump on him and pull him to the ground, and they’d only stop play-fighting when their mother rushed upstairs and physically pried them apart.

Their father always disposed of their books with a stern glare upon discovering them stashed in a corner, of course, but Alfred and Matthew had long since memorized each and every line of their favorite stories. After their mother tucked them into bed and turned the lights off, they’d tell each other time-worn stories -- Alfred playing the part of the noble knight, Matthew playing the part of the dainty princess, much to the latter’s annoyance. 

Besides those memories, the only memories Alfred had of his early childhood were of his father pressing his gnarled, heavy fingers into Alfred’s shoulders and showing him the family tree carved into stone in the main hall of the mansion. Alfred’s name was carved into the branch closest to the base of the wall. 

_You are the result of many generations of Gallofields,_ his father had said. _Duty must always come first._

His father's grip tightened on his shoulders and Alfred bit back a yelp of pain. _Never forget that._

As the eldest son of the Gallofield family, a North American lineage known for specializing in mineralogy, he was in line to eventually fully inherit his father’s position and Magic Crest -- a physical mark made up of Magic Circuits that had his predecessors’ Magecraft encoded in them.

However, as most Magic Crests could only be inherited by one blood successor, magus families with multiple heirs possessing aptitude in Magecraft traditionally sold their younger children away to magus families lacking an heir.

From a young age, both Alfred and his baby brother Matthew had displayed a natural-born aptitude for Magecraft unlike any of their predecessors.

When their father took them down to the lower chambers of the mansion and gave them tin sheets to sculpt in their hands using mana, they could easily fold their sheets into shapes and animals or change tin into gold, much to their father’s pleasure. He and Matthew would play with their little metal creations in their bedroom while their mother sat delicately in a chair and watched.

At night, Alfred would sometimes put his ear against the door and listen as his parents murmured to each other in the hallway outside. He knew that something wasn't right, that there was something his parents wouldn't tell him, but in the morning his parents would be all smiles as his father wrapped a gentle arm around Alfred and Matthew and herded them downstairs to make more gold animals together.

Perhaps if Alfred had known exactly what was about to happen, he could've told Matthew to run away so that at least Matthew could grow up as an ordinary boy without any question of inheritance. But that possibility vanished a long time ago.

When Alfred was around eight, he’d woken up one day to find his mother quietly sobbing by his bedside. He’d tugged on her sleeve and asked her what was wrong, but she’d only cried harder. 

He’d run down the hall with dread curling low in his stomach, desperately calling out for Matthew, only to bump face first into his father’s leg.

Alfred froze in place, expecting his father to reprimand him or glare at him, but when he looked up he only saw a mixture of pity and sadness in his father’s eyes. 

His father picked Alfred up in his arms, sat him down by the fireplace, and stroked his hair gently before telling him that Matthew had been adopted by the Dioland family of magi to strengthen the Gallofield-Dioland alliance. Matthew would be very happy with the Diolands, as they were a very honorable lineage of magi. 

From now on, Alfred would get to learn more about Magecraft from his father, and wouldn’t that be fun anyway? There were so many things that he could do with Magecraft, and he could achieve so much more without his brother around. He could inherit a Magic Crest from his father and bring glory to the family name.

Even as his father comforted him with a gentle smile and voice, Alfred could see the wetness of his father's tears. He had hugged his father’s arm and cried too, not fully comprehending what was about to come.

That was the last time his father had shown any form of weakness towards him. Ever since then, Alfred was tasked with becoming the sole head of the Gallofield family, and open affection would only soften him. 

Alfred’s father relentlessly trained him the mineralogic arts day in, day out, molten metal dripping down Alfred’s arms as his father forced him to shape tin into gold and gold into weapons again and again until he was spent dry of magical energy, gasping for air on the cold floor of the dungeons, Magic Circuits burning in his body. 

Every few months, his father would transfer sections of the Gallofield Magic Crest into Alfred’s body, forming new Magic Circuits over Alfred's heart. With each transplanted section, Alfred grew more and more adept at mineralogical Magecraft, able to cast spells using his incomplete Magic Crest and specialized Mystic Code -- Volumen Hydrachrysaum, or liquid gold, through which he could perform all sorts of Magecraft.

As time went on, Alfred’s mother became a distant figure in his life, shrinking away from his father as if the very sight of him caused her deep pain. Alfred didn't blame her, either -- over the years, his father's cheeks grew pale and sallow, as if he were pouring his very soul into shaping Alfred in his image.

When Alfred was twelve, she passed away in her sleep of mysterious causes, and he couldn't find it in himself to shed tears over her grave no matter how hard he tried.

He just stared at her headstone amidst a long line of Gallofield headstones in the family plot and imagined that the Diolands had allowed Matthew to come attend the funeral. Maybe Matthew would cry enough tears for the two of them -- he had been the crybaby since birth. 

Alfred clenched his fist. He'd see Matthew again sooner or later, and they could make animals out of gold together and maybe Alfred could find out for himself if Matthew still cried whenever Alfred talked about the fact that cute, fuzzy polar bears ate even cuter, even fuzzier seals in reality.

Any thought in Alfred’s mind of seeing his brother again soon faded away when his father sent him away to the Mage’s Association in London after five years of endless training. His father cited a need for Alfred to gain a general education in modern Magecraft before Alfred was old enough to fully inherit the Gallofield Magic Crest. Alfred spent day after day tirelessly taking notes on each day's lectures in Modern Magecraft, distracting himself from the ever-looming truth that he would never see Matthew or his mother ever again. 

That was why, at the age of eighteen, when most American teenage boys were heading into adulthood and pursuing their dreams, Alfred knew that his life was, for all intents and purposes, already over.

Even if he didn’t say it, even if he acted the part of a dutiful heir while with his family and acted the part of a carefree jokester while with his peers, he wanted to become a mage not for the sake of himself or his lineage -- but, rather, for the sake of one day becoming a hero, just like the heroes he saw in the comic books he bought to remind himself of his childhood days with Matthew.

But there would be nobody else to take his place if he were to abandon the Gallofield lineage to pursue his dream, and so he smiled and bore the burden all alone. 

_Duty has to come first. Duty has to come first._

He repeated that mantra in his head over and over again until he almost believed it.

* * *

  
  


A few days before the day that Alfred became free, his father temporarily called him back from London by sending a letter vaguely citing “family affairs” as the reason Alfred was needed at home.

As soon as Alfred arrived back at the empty Gallofield estate, the homunculus maids -- Yelena and Layetta -- bowed in welcome and informed him that he was to continue his Magecraft studies at home until his father arrived in two days’ time.

That, naturally, meant that Alfred was headed into town to buy himself a new Patriots sweatshirt to add to his growing collection of Patriots merchandise hidden under a loose floorboard in his bedroom. 

Alfred found reason to continue living as more than just a shell of a boy through each small rebellion against his father, although he never let his ardent love for the Patriots interfere with his mineralogical practice. Still, he knew that he wouldn’t get away with many more rebellions before Yelena or his father himself discovered and burned all of his non-Magecraft related belongings and subsequently forbade him from ever leaving the mansion. 

_Carpe diem,_ as the Romans said. Maybe _c’est la vie_ as well. 

When Alfred stepped out of the woods onto the main road into town, however, there were orange construction cones and flashing warning lights blocking his way.

“Sorry, kid, there’s construction going on here,” one of the workers said with a tired grimace. “A sinkhole opened in the road two nights ago and we’re here right now fixing it.” 

“The town’s okay, though?” Alfred asked, hoping that he could still get his hands on a Patriots sweatshirt.

“Yeah. Though it is strange that a sinkhole opened here of all places.” The worker let out a huff. “You’d think that there wouldn't be any sinkholes in stable ground like this, but I guess Mother Nature had other plans, eh?”

So Alfred backtracked and took the circuitous dirt path through the woods along the flooded part of town. Along the way, he crouched down by a tree stump to tie his shoelaces and gazed out over the endless dark ocean several hundred feet below that stretched to the horizon.

Several years ago, a storm drowned most of the Boston metro area underneath a deluge of seawater, and since then the seawater hadn’t receded. Even now, wreckage occasionally still washed ashore from the towns and cities resting beneath the waves, and weekly search parties went out onto the open ocean in search of bodies, lost possessions, anything that would let survivors finally let their bereaved hearts rest at peace. 

The year was now 2017, and the fact that Alfred stood above the waves instead of beneath them meant that there was still purpose for him in the world, even if it was a purpose he didn’t want. 

The sun emerged from behind a curtain of clouds. Alfred squinted at something near the horizon that hadn’t been there before.

Two men stood opposing each other atop metal beams rising from the waves like the skeleton of an ancient beast. When Alfred squinted his eyes, he could see that one of the men was armed with what appeared to be a large cannon, wearing what appeared to be a 19th-century French military uniform complete with a funny-looking hat perched atop his head. The other man held a wooden staff in his hands, dark purple robes fluttering in the harsh ocean wind. 

Were they magi? Magi weren’t exactly known for the modernity of their clothing, but Alfred had never seen any magi who dressed like French soldiers. Maybe they were just historical reenactors, though Alfred wondered how a pair of costumed actors swam hundreds of yards out to sea without getting their clothes wet. 

Then, a golden beam of light shot from the French soldier’s cannon towards the purple-robed man, and a moment later an intense blast of air bent trees backwards and nearly sent Alfred tumbling over his feet. 

Alfred just barely managed to grab onto a tree trunk for stability before the purple-robed man raised his staff and, in a blast of white light, summoned what looked like a white-maned familiar of some kind that was at least a few stories tall -- a troll? -- which then raised its arms to block the oncoming beam, seawater surging and frothing around the metal skeleton of a skyscraper. 

_These definitely aren’t historical reenactors,_ Alfred thought, perhaps a bit obviously. 

But what was with this sheer power? Alfred had never met a magus before who could shoot _lasers_ from Magical Constructs -- that cannon was definitely a product of magecraft, no ordinary cannon could shoot light -- and summoning a familiar that could survive such a powerful attack was practically unheard of in the Mage’s Association.

Magecraft that potent was relegated to myths about magi dating back to the Age of Gods, back when the atmosphere was saturated with mana and divinity walked freely with men. 

The purple-robed man pointed his staff at the French soldier and the troll let out a blast of frosty air that froze the raging ocean into a jagged, icy pathway. Alfred shivered, feeling the temperature rapidly drop as icicles formed on tree branches and dark clouds gathered in the sky.

And then, _and then_ , the French soldier made an impossible leap up in the air, rising hundreds of yards and hurtling closer and closer to where Alfred stood. Alfred just barely rolled out of the way before the French soldier landed where Alfred had stood moments before. The French soldier skidded through a cloud of dirt before seamlessly pivoting around and cocking his cannon -- _a_ _really huge-ass cannon_ \-- and fired a rapid series of shots towards the ocean below. 

Moments passed, and nothing happened. The dust cloud around the French soldier’s feet settled. The French soldier twirled his impossibly large cannon around in the air and planted its pointed end into the ground, seemingly triumphant. 

“What the hell, dude?!” Alfred exclaimed. 

Alfred realized he’d spoken aloud when the French soldier turned around and gazed at him with deep amethyst eyes, long, golden locks fluttering in the wind. Something about the man seemed vaguely familiar, as if Alfred had seen his face on a fashion magazine cover before or something.

“It’s you,” the French soldier said, softly accented. “ _Mon dieu_ , it really is you. Why, I feel as if I have seen a ghost.”

“G-g-g-ghost?!” Alfred whimpered, despite himself. His hands shook at his sides -- though from fear of what, he didn’t know. 

The French soldier laughed haughtily. “Oh, forgive me for forgetting. You are deathly afraid of ghosts. Servants, ghosts, what difference is there really?” 

With every word the French soldier spoke, Alfred grew more and more confused. This whole situation was giving him bad juju. He was pretty darn sure he’d remember meeting a powerful French magus with a liking for historical outfits, and yet the French soldier acted as if he and Alfred had met somewhere before.

_Servant._ He wondered where he’d heard that word used before. 

Suddenly, a section of the cliff side collapsed where the purple robed magus’s incantation had hit it, and the French soldier leapt into the air again to fire another series of shots towards the ocean. 

Alfred took the opportunity to bolt, racing through the thick woods over stones, exposed roots, and bushes until the Gallofield mansion was in sight. He broke through the front doors and collapsed in a heap in the main hall as one of the homunculus maids rushed to his side with concern.

“Are you alright?” the maid -- Alfred thought her name might be Layetta -- murmured, placing her pale hand on Alfred’s shoulder. “Where were you? You seem frightened.”

Alfred looked up into her crimson red eyes and recoiled, feeling as if her wide eyes were boring holes into his skull. Layetta retracted her hand carefully, seeming to sense his fear. 

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” Layetta said, crossing her hands on her lap. “Do you need me for anything at the moment?”

Alfred shook his head and ducked into his father’s study without another word, feeling Layetta’s eyes follow him as he slammed the heavy wooden door behind himself.

The smooth wood of the door squeaked against Alfred’s fingers as he sunk to his knees, back pressed to the door, gasping for air as he felt fear tighten his muscles. He held his hands up to his face and dimly registered the scrapes on his hands from running headlong through the forest. 

There was no way anyone -- or anything, for that matter -- could break through the magical defenses the Gallofield family had built up over generations that now shielded the family estate. Alfred reminded himself of that fact at least three times before his breathing slowed and his shoulders dropped. 

_Servant. Servant. Servant. Servants, ghosts, what difference is there really?_

The French soldier’s words rattled around in Alfred’s head. 

He’d heard Lord El-Melloi II mention Servants during a lecture on the basics of familiars, saying that Servants were powerful familiars made of mana who represented aspects of mythological and historical figures and possessed abilities far beyond that of ordinary men. Lord El-Melloi II had cautioned that Servants were not meant to be summoned outside of Holy Grail Wars because of their high mana cost and potential danger. Holy Grail Wars had to be sanctioned by both the Mage's Association and the Holy Church to take place and generally required a Holy Grail -- a cup that could grant any wish -- in order to supply seven summoned Servants with enough mana to manifest in the human world.

Beyond that, Alfred knew frustratingly little. Lord El-Melloi didn’t specialize in familiars, and Alfred was an alchemist first and foremost. 

There had to be something in his father’s library that would give him answers, right? His father had a book on nearly goddamn everything imaginable stored in shelves that stretched from floor to vaulted ceiling. 

Alfred secured a foothold on one of the ladders propped up next to a shelf of books on Magecraft and hoisted himself up, carefully climbing up towards the section containing books on familiars and summoning them.

As Alfred thumbed through the spines of various books on familiars, he read each title for possible clues.

_On The Enchantment and Construction of Golems… Automatas 101… The Holy Grail War and Servants: Notes._

The last title gave Alfred pause. He pulled it out and felt a chill run down his spine when he recognized his father’s handwriting on the front cover of the notebook.

In that moment, Alfred thought back to his past. He'd never heard of any other magus undergoing training similar to what he'd borne through as a child. When he'd offhandedly mentioned his father's one-on-one training sessions to his classmates between lectures, his classmates had stared at him with expressions between disbelief and concern at his description of metal burning marks into his skin.

He hadn’t said anything about his home life after that.

There was a distinct chance, then, that his father was preparing him for the purpose of using him as a proxy for a Grail War. That would not only explain the sudden appearance of Servants in town but also the notebook apparently containing information on Servants and Holy Grail Wars.

Before now, he hadn't thought much of the one notebook his father always carried in his pocket, nor had he looked through this section of the library before. Now, though, Alfred frantically flipped through the notebook’s pages searching for something, anything that could explain the Servant-on-Servant battle he had just witnessed take place over the ocean.

One page, titled “Command Spells”, had detailed drawings in red ink of marks in various patterns ranging from an angel’s wings to a serrated blade to an abstract flower. 

Alfred read the scribbled blurb at the bottom in what was unmistakably his father's handwriting. 

_Each Master in a Grail War receives three Command Spells engraved in his or her skin. Each Command Spell is solidified mana that can be used to issue an absolute command to a Servant contracted with. When all three are used up, the contract ends._

_There are…_

The notes trailed off there. Alfred kept flipping.

Another page, titled “Servant Classes”, had seven drawings of men wielding various weapons, each labeled with a title. 

_Saber. Archer. Lancer. Caster. Rider. Assassin. Berserker._

There were also a few notes scrawled in the margins -- _Ruler, Avenger, Foreigner, Watcher, Voyager_ \-- though they had been blotted out with ink.

The next page was a delicate graphite drawing of what looked to be a summoning circle for a familiar, lines dipping and swooping like vines curled on a trellis.

When Alfred turned the notebook sideways to get a better look at the drawing, his thumb rubbed against a piece of paper sticking out between the pages. He pulled at it and discovered there was a sealed envelope addressed to the Diolands slipped in between the pages. 

Naturally curious and sensing no Magecraft sealing it, Alfred carefully opened it with an envelope knife and read it.

_Addressed to Kyierieth Dioland_

_I have been regretfully informed that your heir, Matthew Dioland, has contracted with a Servant in order to fight in the next Grail War. It will be my utmost regret if I were to fight my former son and the heir to my dear ally’s lineage when such an unfortunate outcome is entirely avoidable._

_It follows, then, that if you refuse to stand down and voluntarily offer Matthew to me, I will take his Command Spells from him by force. There is far too much at stake in this War for me to deal with pleasantries such as chivalry and law. You will understand what I mean by this._

_Kingsbury Gallofield_

By the time Alfred read his father’s signature at the bottom of the page, his head was reeling. His former brother had summoned a Servant? Not only that, but their father was planning on killing him? How could he? Weren’t the Diolands their allies?

_I will take his Command Spells from him by force. You will understand what I mean by this._

The words rang in Alfred’s head. He wanted to vomit.

Underneath the letter were several sheets of parchment upon which an incantation was written. Curiosity getting the better of him once more, Alfred picked the sheets of parchment up and read them.

As Alfred read each line, he realized -- with a jolt -- that the incantation was for summoning a Servant.

As far as Alfred knew, the process for summoning Servants was a secret guarded jealously by the magus families selected to fight in the Holy Grail Wars.

And yet here laid a word-for-word incantation obviously meant for a Servant summoning ritual. 

Alfred reached out and touched the edge of the paper, feeling the frayed texture of the page with wonderment at what he’d just discovered. 

He knew basic incantations as well as the general process for summoning familiars, given his training. He was fairly adept at summoning, too. One time, he’d even summoned a chimera inside of London’s sewers for the sake of impressing Hanako -- a cute Cause-rank magus in the Astromancy department -- and then promptly got chewed out by Lord El-Melloi II for potentially endangering everyone in London by summoning an untamed beast without setting up a Bounded Field to corral it.

Summoning a Servant couldn’t be that much harder than summoning a chimera, right?

Besides, Alfred told himself, summoning a Servant meant that he could win the Holy Grail and use its limitless wish-granting power to share his Magic Crest with Matthew so that they could inherit the Gallofield name together. Then Alfred wouldn't have to deal with the weight of his father's expectations all alone.

Deep down, he didn’t want to consider the possibility that he’d actually have to fight his former brother to the death to get the Grail in the first place. He’d get Matthew and his respective Servant on his side somehow when the time came! 

Alfred clutched the notebook to his chest and discreetly made his way upstairs, nudging his way into his bedroom without any of the maids noticing. 

Drawing the summoning circle itself on his bedroom floor was easy -- after all, it only required ingredients that Alfred had already borrowed from his father's workshop. Within half an hour, he'd meticulously copied the notebook's summoning circle diagram in molten gold. 

The only issue, he realized, would be reading the entire summoning incantation start to finish without messing up. The incantation was much longer than that for summoning a lower-level familiar -- go figure -- and Alfred had never attempted a ritual of this scale before. His best chance at reciting the incantation start to finish without fumbling his pronunciation would be to copy it onto notebook paper first, just like he did when Lord El-Melloi II assigned a particularly difficult spell to study for class.

As Alfred copied each word, his mind wandered away from the current menial task at hand. If the magus contracted with a Servant was called a Master, didn't that mean that his Servant would call him "Master"? 

That weirded him out. He wasn't even a fully-fledged magus yet and yet he would soon possess three Command Spells that would give him authority over a legendary figure he should've by all means called "Master" instead. 

He'd get to it when he got to it, he reminded himself as he copied the last few words of the incantation. He could talk it out with whatever uber-powerful Servant he summoned and somehow convince them to address him by something that was at least a little more equitable than "Master". 

All this led up to Alfred standing at the edge of a neatly drawn summoning circle in his bedroom clutching a Servant summoning incantation copied onto notebook paper in his hands, all while wearing a Patriots hoodie and ratty sweatpants.

For a moment, Alfred almost hesitated. If he did this, there was no turning back. As awesome as summoning a Servant and saving Matthew would be, he also knew that he was potentially walking straight into his doom. There were at least a billion ways that the Holy Grail War could end in Alfred's grisly death.

But was there even any other way? It was either a quick and glorious death in a Grail War or a slow and mundane death as just another Gallofield magus in a long line of magi. 

Besides, his Magic Circuits were the best of any Gallofield before him. He totally had this Holy Grail War thing in the bag.

The nuggets of gold in Alfred's hand felt cold to the touch. He took a deep breath and then began to chant.

“ _Let gold be the essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation. My origin resides within the folds of the earth_.”

The gold nuggets in Alfred’s hand melted and poured into the grooves of the summoning circle. 

" _Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall. Let the four cardinal gates close. Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate. Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill. Repeat five times. But when each is filled, destroy it._ ”

The rivulets of gold flowing through the summoning circle’s intricate curls glowed with a fine, warm light.

“ _Heed my words. My will creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny. If you heed the Grail’s call and abide by my will and reason, then answer me._ ”

Notebook pages fluttered around Alfred as he spoke, caught by a breeze filtering through his open window.

“ _I hereby swear that I shall embody all the good in the world, that I shall defeat all the evil in the world. You, seven heavens, clad in the three great words of power, come forth from the circle of binding, Protector of the Holy Balance!_ ”

Golden lightning cracked through the air, a blast of pressure with a loud crack. Alfred jumped back, startled, banging his head against the wall with an undignified yelp. He closed his eyes and raised his arms to cover his head as books fell to the floor around him.

When Alfred tentatively cracked open his eyes, he gasped.

From the cloud of golden dust shrouding the summoning circle emerged a beautiful man dressed in a brown military uniform with a deep crimson coat accented with gold thread. Straw-gold hair glowed underneath a tricorne perched atop his head. In one hand, he held a curved cutlass; in the other, he held a flintlock pistol. Green jewels glittered at his neck and in his ears.

As the beautiful man stepped closer to Alfred, his sharp facial features came into view, sharp cheekbones accentuated by thin lips and rather thick eyebrows. His emerald eyes glowed from within with golden light.

And then, the man met Alfred’s awestruck gaze.

“I ask you, are you my Master?” the man asked, voice richly accented -- _British_.

“Y-yes!” Alfred said. He cleared his throat, trying to deepen his voice with authority. “Who would you be?”

“Rider-class Servant, Arthur,” the man answered. “You are permitted to call me either Rider or Arthur. Whichever strikes your fancy.”

“Arthur? Like, uh, King Arthur?” Alfred cocked his head, looking at the man’s odd combination of a crimson pirate coat and a uniform secured by an officers’ belt questioningly. 

Arthur smirked. “I’m afraid not, boy. You’re dearly mistaken. ‘Arthur’ is merely what I was called in life, though it is not my True Name.” 

“You’re really a Servant?”

The golden glow dissipated. Arthur scrunched his thick eyebrows together with disdain, and all of a sudden Alfred remembered that all he was wearing was a Patriots shirt and a pair of sweatpants. 

“Are you daft? God almighty, I do hope that I wasn’t truly summoned by an idiot. And, your clothing. Are you even a mage?”

“I -- I yeah, of course I am, yes," Alfred stumbled, swallowing around a hard lump in his throat. Something about Arthur's scrutinizing gaze made Alfred's stomach twist itself in knots. 

Still, Alfred worked up the nerve and rolled up his sleeve to reveal the red Command Spells he had felt burn into his forearm only moments earlier. 

For the briefest of moments, Arthur seemed thrown off balance, recoiling ever so slightly from the sight of the Command Spells, eyes wide. Alfred drew his arm back, confused by Arthur's reaction.

Then, Arthur righted himself with a carefully neutral expression as if nothing had happened, though his eyes then focused solely on Alfred's face. Alfred quickly became self-conscious, shying away from Arthur’s intense gaze.

“Well, whether or not you are truly a magus matters not,” Arthur sighed, tentatively averting his gaze. “The Command Spells on your arm are proof enough that you’re my Master, even if you’re still just a boy.”

Curious about Arthur's odd reaction, Alfred held his right arm up, inspecting the red marks emblazoned on his forearm. There were three clear components of the design -- a series of stripes, a pair of wings, and a five-pointed star. 

He absently rubbed at the Command Spells with his thumb, wondering at how unassuming they looked. To an unknowing citizen, they’d be tattoos without a hint of authority to them. Even among mages, most had never seen a Command Spell with their own eyes, as they only appeared on the bodies of Masters in a Holy Grail War. 

According to his father's notes, each one could be used as an absolute command issued to a Servant -- and once all three were used, the contract between Master and Servant was effectively terminated.

Alfred still couldn't figure out what was so off-putting about his Command Spells, so he stared at Arthur, studying the intricate golden detailing of his coat, the tightly tied knee-high boots wrapped around his legs, the frilly cravat tied around his collar. 

Arthur stared back at him with his glowing green eyes with equal curiosity, seeming to silently appraise Alfred. 

“Uh, do you want a drink?” Alfred asked after an intense moment of silence, and then mentally punched himself for asking a stupid question of the beautiful immortal familiar he’d just summoned for himself. 

“Yes, a drink would be lovely,” Arthur agreed. “Would you happen to have any sort of tea?” 

“I have Folgers coffee?” Alfred offered. “One of the maids could pour it for you.”

“...Coffee it is, then,” Arthur murmured with strange fondness.

“...A-alright.” Alfred gulped. Something about Arthur’s voice made him feel warm on the inside. “I’ll show you to the sitting room. Follow me.” 

As Alfred made his way down the grand staircase, he could hear Arthur fall into a military step behind him, rhythmic. Something about Arthur’s presence at his back made him feel safe and reassured. 

A lot of things about Arthur made Alfred feel things. 

Layetta and Yelena awaited the two of them at the base of the staircase, eyes wide and unblinking. They jointly bowed in greeting to Alfred, then regarded Arthur with inquiring sidelong glances.

Alfred tried not to reveal his unease around the unnaturally red eyes of his father’s homunculus maids, instead dropping his shoulders and smiling lopsidedly to make Arthur feel at ease.

“Arthur, this is Layetta. She’s one of the homunculus maids I just mentioned. Layetta, could you pour us some coffee?”

“Folgers? Of course.” With that, Layetta turned on her heel and made her dutiful way into a side chamber, shoes clicking against the tiled floor.

“And the other one is called…”

“Yelena,” Yelena finished, narrowing her eyes at Arthur. “Young Master, this man is very clearly a Servant. I do not recall Lord Gallofield asking you to perform the Servant Summoning ritual on his behalf. When he returns, you must apologize for acting against his will and face appropriate punishment.”

Alfred froze, breath catching in his throat. Usually Layetta turned a blind eye to his escapades and small rebellions, but Yelena barely tolerated even Alfred’s smallest infractions. Well, he hadn’t thought through what would happen after he summoned a Servant in his father’s stead, and now he would face the consequences. 

Yelena raised her hands as if to grab Alfred by his shoulders, but she paused mid-step when Arthur stepped in front of Alfred and brandished his cutlass at her.

“Ma’am,” Arthur said, voice cold like steel. “It would do you some good to understand your position. You are a homunculus, a living Magic Circuit, and although your capacity for Magecraft surpasses that of an ordinary mage, you are no match for a Servant. Stand down and cooperate, or I shall not hesitate to exact your compliance with force.”

Yelena raised her fists. The Magic Circuits in her knuckles glowed green with mana. “My loyalty is to the Gallofields above all else. I will not cooperate with an unauthorized entity whose interests do not align with that of Lord Gallofield.”

Arthur curled his lip. “And my loyalty is to my Master above his family name.” 

Alfred looked between them, feeling dread sink low in his stomach as he realized that neither intended on backing down. 

Before Alfred could say anything to dispel the tension, however, Yelena lunged forward and narrowly sidestepped a slash of Arthur’s cutlass. Arthur jumped backwards and swung his flintlock pistol into his other hand to shoot several rounds at Yelena, but she dodged nimbly. 

“Arthur!” Alfred cried, staggering backwards, but it was too late.

Yelena tried to sweep Arthur’s legs out from beneath him with a low kick, but Arthur gracefully bounded into the air and crushed Yelena’s face under his heel with a sickening crack. Before Alfred could even react, Arthur muttered an incantation under his breath and, in a flash of light, Yelena collapsed limply to the floor.

Without a second thought, Alfred threw a melted gold nugget into the air and used mana to shape the molten gold into a rope that he then threw at Arthur. Arthur put up no resistance, letting Alfred restrain his wrists behind his back. 

Arthur calmly turned to face Alfred when Alfred ran to his side. 

“Unrestrain me.”

“Only if you listen to me first,” Alfred replied, gritting his teeth.

“I will,” Arthur promised, and Alfred made the molten gold reform into a nugget in his palm with a flick of his wrist.

“What are you doing?” Alfred asked, trying his best not to look at where Yelena lay crumpled in a heap. “What did you do to her?”

“She will wake in a few hours with no recollection of what happened,” Arthur said coolly. “In her eyes, I am your friend who is visiting for the weekend and nothing more. We will deal with your father once he arrives, as long as the Grail War isn’t already won by then. I think it would be best to reprogram Layetta as well. What is your command, Master?”

“Don’t call me that,” Alfred said reflexively. “I may be your Master, but my name is Alfred. Feels a little weird to have someone stronger than me call me ‘Master’.” 

_And a little kinky, too,_ Alfred thought, but he didn’t say it. 

A look of surprise flickered across Arthur’s face, though Alfred may have imagined it. 

“Very well. Alfred, what should we do about your two maids? I can make short work of both Layetta and Yelena, if that is your command.” Arthur gestured crudely with his cutlass. “Two slashes, and there will be no prying eyes, no loose lips. Or perhaps I should take my time with it?” 

Arthur twirled his cutlass around his fingers, a downright predatory glint in his eyes. “After all, they won’t even dream of hurting you if I leave them with the memory of my blade digging through their flesh.”

Alfred curled his hand into a fist. He knew that Arthur wouldn’t turn his wrath on him, but he also couldn’t bear to see Arthur hurt people who hadn’t done anything wrong.

At the same time, Arthur looked so determined that Alfred wasn’t sure if Arthur would even listen to him at this point.

“No. No, don’t hurt either of them. I… I don’t want to do this, but if you won’t stop…” 

Alfred pulled his sleeve down to reveal his Command Spells, hoping he looked as authoritative and awesome as he thought he did. The sight of the crimson red Command Spells seemed to give Arthur pause long enough for the anger to fade from his eyes. 

“Don’t waste your Command Spells, you heroic dolt,” Arthur grumbled, eyeing Alfred’s forearm moodily. Still, he stood down, sheathing his cutlass and flintlock pistol in his belt and turning his back to Yelena. 

Then, Arthur’s green-gold eyes met Alfred’s, and Alfred felt his breath hitch in his throat at how bright those eyes looked now that they were unclouded by anger. 

“I’m your Servant, and you’re my Master. Your wish is my command.”

Arthur reached out and clasped Alfred’s hand in his own. “I swore that as soon as you summoned me.”

Alfred wet his lips. He didn’t know what to make of Arthur’s words, and his cheeks were quickly warming from the intensity of Arthur’s gaze combined with the feeling of Arthur’s skin rubbing against his skin and, well, _everything_ about Arthur, even if Arthur was apparently rather ruthless towards his enemies.

“You wield that Mystic Code quite well for your age, Alfred,” Arthur noted, glancing at the solidified gold in Alfred’s hand. “I suppose you’ll have at least some means of defending yourself should an enemy Servant attack you behind my back.”

Alfred pouted. “Hey, don’t underestimate me, man! I’m not that much younger than you!” 

He paused, then blushed, remembering that Arthur was an immortal ( _and rather handsome_ ) familiar and not a guy he’d just met on the street.

“Uh...How old are you, anyway? I mean, you have to be dead or legendary to be a Servant, so of course you’re older than I am, but you have an age, right?” 

Arthur’s lips quirked up at the edges. “That’s a long story. Perhaps I should take you up on that offer of coffee before we introduce ourselves to each other properly.”

When Alfred started towards the sitting room, Arthur let go of Alfred’s hand -- much to the latter’s disappointment -- following behind at a step’s distance. Alfred curled his fingers into his palm and tried to hold the remnants of Arthur’s body heat in his hand like a flame. 

The sitting room of the Gallofield mansion was well-furnished, filled with all sorts of antiques and paintings and whatnot. Alfred didn’t care for any of it, but Arthur seemed duly impressed, glancing at Alfred with a strange smirk on his lips. 

“I didn’t expect you’d be the type to own such lavish furnishings, what with your rather unbecoming garb,” Arthur said. 

Alfred blushed, rubbing his neck self-consciously. “This is all my father’s stuff,” he explained. “And hey! The Patriots are awesome, dude! Not my fault you can’t recognize how great they are, being a Brit and all.” 

Arthur chuckled, and Alfred definitely didn’t think at all about how refined and posh his laugh sounded. The most snobbish of mages hailing from noble lineages with as many titles as they had ancestors couldn’t even hold a candle to Arthur. 

Everything about Arthur oozed nobility and power, from his gait to the jewels around his neck to his warmly accented voice. Alfred watched as Arthur turned away and inspected the model ship situated on the mantelpiece, looking every bit as regal as the gold accents around the door or the tassels hanging from the silk curtains.

In the background, Layetta brewed coffee with the soft clinking of silverware, and Alfred felt as if all was right in the world.

“Coffee’s ready,” Layetta called, breaking the moment of repose with the sound of a tray of coffee mugs clinking onto a table.

When Alfred seated himself in an upholstered chair, he furtively admired the grace with which Arthur took a mug of coffee from Layetta and then seated himself across from Alfred, legs crossed. He seemed to be contemplating his cup of coffee, gazing into its depths as if it would yield an answer or a long-lost memory.

Just before Arthur could open his mouth, Alfred blurted out the question of the hour.

“Who are you, Arthur?” 

He gulped when Arthur’s glowing eyes flickered up to meet his gaze. A smirk spread across Arthur’s lips, confident and relaxed.

“I might as well explain myself to you, then.” Arthur stretched out over Alfred’s couch, lithe like a sunbathing lion. “I’m not telling you what my summoning catalyst was, if you’re wondering about that, as I’m afraid that’s rather sensitive information, but I’ll tell you my True Name: The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.”

Alfred leaned forward in his seat, eyes wide. “What?! How is that possible?”

Arthur held up his hand. “Hold your questions for now, boy. Yes, the country himself. I haven’t the slightest idea what drivel your magus ancestors taught you, but I will let you know that summonable Heroic Spirits aren’t limited to those who existed in the past or even within this worldline. And National Spirits qualify as Heroic Spirits just as much as Saint George or Romulus would, being that we are myths remembered by generations of men. My very existence is proof of that.”

Alfred nodded emphatically, feeling as if he were learning the world’s secrets. “Uh-huh?”

“That’s all I can tell you as of now, I’m afraid. I can’t take any risks until we know who we’re facing in this Grail War. We wouldn’t want to lose our advantage of surprise should we encounter a Master or Servant capable of reading minds. I do hope you’ll understand.” 

“Aaaw,” Alfred groaned. “I was hoping that you’d tell me more about yourself and your cool past and stuff. I was wondering where you picked up your fancy schmancy cutlass tricks and all.”

Arthur’s cheeks pinked. “N-now, if there is anything you would need to know about, I would tell you when it’s necessary, Alfred. Why won’t you tell me more about yourself instead?”

“Okay!” Alfred slapped his hands against his knees. “I’m Alfred ‘Jones’ Gallofield, and I’m a disciple in Modern Magecraft at the Mage’s Association in London,” he began.

“I’m familiar,” Arthur interjected. “Go on.” 

“Oh, okay. So, um, I’m training to fully inherit the Gallofield Magic Crest, and…”

Arthur nodded along as Alfred recounted his life’s story up to that point -- from Alfred’s birth as the eldest son, to his brother’s adoption by the Diolands, to his father sending him away to London to cultivate his innate aptitude for Magecraft, to the two Servants Alfred saw duking it out -- Arthur frowned at Alfred’s description of the French soldier, though he didn’t interrupt -- all the way to Alfred sneaking into his father’s library and using the summoning incantation so that he could win the Grail and save Matthew. 

When Alfred finished, he paused and blushed as he realized he’d just poured his heart out to a near-stranger -- but there was something about Arthur’s appearance that inspired trust in him, as if it were only natural that Arthur would know every bit of who he was. 

“Fascinating,” Arthur drawled in that thick accent of his, and he sounded as if he really meant it. He drummed his fingers against his knee. “Well, Alfred, perhaps our next order of business should be to search the area for any clues as to who these two mysterious Servants may be. You said we are in rural Massachusetts, correct?”

Alfred nodded. 

“Very well, then. We should return to the site where you saw the two Servants clash and investigate. There may be physical remains left over from their battle, such as footprints or burn marks, that could give us valuable information on how to counter them should we meet in battle. Afterwards, I suggest we scout the nearby town for any signs of other Servants or Masters who we could collect intel on. And then…”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Alfred held up his hands for Arthur to stop talking. “Let’s not plan that far ahead, dude. One step at a time. We can figure out what’ll happen next once we, like, know a little bit more about whatever the hell is going on.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “Forgive me for my haste. I simply sought to suggest that we make a move as quickly as possible so as to avoid the other six combatants in the Holy Grail War coming after us first.”

“Nah, you’re good.” Alfred held up his hands. “There’s a Dunkin’ next to the town green that we can stop at after scouting the town for clues. We can grab some better coffee there. No offense, Layetta.”

“None taken, Young Master,” Layetta said.

Alfred pumped his fist in the air. “Then, we can make a totally awesome plan for how to win this Holy Grail War!”

Arthur smiled, and Alfred lost all semblance of language at the sight. 

“Rest assured, Alfred. We will win this Holy Grail War together and save your brother. There’s no better Servant you could’ve summoned for your purposes. Barring that, your Magecraft is quite potent -- even if you are sorely lacking in experience.” 

Alfred smiled back, too enchanted by Arthur's smile to even notice the back-handed compliment. 

“Let’s win this together, Arthur.” Alfred held his hand out for a fistbump -- something he’d learned by watching sports games.

He expected that he’d have to explain what a fistbump was to Arthur, what with Arthur’s clothing dating him as somewhere between “super duper ancient” and “definitely not from the 21st century”, but Arthur took one look at his fist and fistbumped him with an understanding laugh. 

Years later, Alfred would look back at this moment as the moment he knew who Arthur was to him. When he’d imagined summoning his own Servant in a Holy Grail War, he’d imagined a dark, stormy night and lightning crackling across the sky and a hero in shining armor arriving to pull him into his own adventure story.

But this -- this felt nice, actually. Something about Arthur’s sharp words and ethereal appearance drew Alfred closer until all Alfred could see in the world was him. He already felt as if trusting Arthur was something bone-deep, as integral as the Magic Crest over his heart or the bones in his body. 

Holy Grail War aside, Alfred wanted to spend more time with Arthur by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Servant Class: Rider  
> True Name: United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland  
> Master: Alfred 'Jones' Gallofield  
> Noble Phantasm(s): ???  
> Skills: ???  
> Parameters: ???  
> A golden-haired man dressed in a richly decorated pirate coat and uniform. He has been summoned in the "Rider" class container, meaning that his strongest means of attack is through a mount tied to his respective legend, similar to Saint Martha's Tarasque or Medusa's Pegasus. Though his methods may be brutal and his past mysterious, he swears to protect Alfred and win the Holy Grail War for him no matter what. Apparently, he personifies the United Kingdom, making him an existence different from that of a normal Servant, or Heroic Spirit. He is instead called a National Spirit, qualifying as a Servant recorded in the Throne of Heroes, which is where the souls of qualifying historical and mythological figures are stored, because his country is continuously remembered by generations of men. He is also known by the name "Arthur".


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Holy Grail War begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the tags of this fic to reflect revisions I made to the plotline of this fanfic. Just a heads-up.
> 
> I actually updated this before "Tigers in the Sky" because the recent Apocrypha event in FGO struck me with inspiration. Go figure. 
> 
> Also, this fic is multi-chapter. I forgot to mark that when I first published this fic. Sorry about that.
> 
> If you want to see the accompanying illustrations I drew for this fanfic, my Twitter is DiurnalDays, my Instagram is diurnal_days, and my Tumblr is diurnaldaysart. My Tumblr tag is "Red Line" for illustrations pertaining to this fanfic. I've since embedded my illustration of Arthur into the first chapter; feel free to scroll back if you want to admire his glory. ;)

“Report to me, Archer.” 

In a burst of golden light, Archer manifested behind an upholstered chair in which sat his Master, a young man with a soft voice and gentle features. 

Though Archer now wore a low-necked shirt and a scarf, quite modest in comparison to his usual nineteenth-century garb, his golden hair still glowed in the firelight as if spun from gold, and the graceful edges of his face rivaled that of a marble statue. 

When most men and women alike saw him in this form, their faces grew slack with admiration and desire, but his Master’s face remained stern and cold.

“Ah, there is no greater torture than remaining in spirit form,” Archer cried. “The deprivation of the senses is a trial no nobleman would willingly undertake. I do wish you would permit me to enjoy the pleasures of life, given that I did rid you of that wretched man you so despised. A fine French wine or a delicately aged cheese to savor on the tongue would be little to ask for in return, non?”

“But you still recognize the advantages of keeping mana cost low, and you know not to disobey my orders,” Archer’s Master said, unmoved. “You are my Servant, after all, and I am your Master. Don’t forget that.”

Archer rested his hand on the upholstered chair’s back just above his Master’s shoulder, familiar and yet ever-so-daring. 

“There is no need for such a professional attitude, _mon cher_ ,” Archer said, a smirk now playing across his lips. “I saved you from your fate for good reason. You may recall little of our past together, but you were once very fun to tease. Now? There is very little to enjoy about you, I am afraid.”

“I don’t remember anything about this past life you keep talking about,” Archer’s Master said. “You should focus on gathering more materials for the ritual, Archer.”

“Ah, but victory tastes sweeter when won with the fruits of slow passion,” Archer said. “There is no need to make such haste when all resistance to our might is entirely futile, no? In fact, I would serve you far better if you offered me a little… motivation. A single night spent with me in your chambers would more than suffice.”

“Report. Now,” his Master said, fists clenched.

Archer sighed aggrievedly. “Very well, very well. I made sure that Caster and his Master won’t dare foray anywhere near our territory, not unless they wish for an early demise. Is that not what you desired, what with you and your single-minded focus on victory?”

“Did you see anything unusual?”

Archer inspected his nails -- impeccably manicured, as usual. “Besides a civilian with an uncanny resemblance to a man I once knew, not particularly, no.” 

“I think that’s pretty unusual, considering what you’ve said about your past life. And he wasn’t a Servant?”

“No, he was not.”

“Then--” 

“You would do well to remember two things, _bien-aimé_ ,” Archer interrupted, turning away with a flick of his hand. “One, I am unerringly loyal to you, as you are already aware.”

“And?” Archer’s Master asked, voice rising.

“And, two, you and your brother are not as dissimilar as you believe. _Bonsoir._ ”

With those parting words, Archer dissipated into his spirit form once more, leaving his Master staring at the spot where he’d once stood with a mixture of anger and disbelief spread across his features. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The carnage was visible at a length of a hundred yards, with large chunks missing from the stone cliffside and scorch marks gouged into the earth as if by furious claws. Trees lay scorched and flattened haphazardly this way and that. 

A cool sea breeze whistled over the scene, sending pine needles and ash tumbling into the air. 

Alfred stood back at the edge of the woods, paralyzed by the realization that he could’ve tumbled into the ocean or burnt into ash if he’d hesitated just a moment longer in his escape. 

As if he’d seen many battlefields like this before, Arthur marched forward unperturbed, eyes scanning to and fro. 

Once he reached the cliffside, he shook his head, turned around, and marched back to Alfred’s side.

“Whatever happened here, the two Servants you saw here are long gone,” Arthur said. “There’s no trace of them here, I’m afraid. This destruction may as well be a storm’s doing, for all the good it does us.”

Alfred deflated slightly. “Aw. I was hoping that we could get some answers. Guess not.” 

“Do not despair yet, lad.” Arthur tapped his heel against the ground thoughtfully. “There’s no doubt that the purple-robed magus you saw was a Caster-class Servant. No other class of Servant can summon familiars of the caliber you described.” 

Alfred nodded. “Makes sense. Who would the other Servant be, then?”

“The French soldier might be an Archer,” Arthur said. “given that he primarily fought with a cannon, although it isn’t unheard of for Servants in one class to wield weapons primarily associated with another.”

Arthur’s cutlass materialized in his hand, fingers gripping the handle like an old memory. “Case in point, normally a Servant that fights with a cutlass would be a Saber, and a Servant that fights with a pistol would be an Archer. I am, however, a Rider who can wield both weapons. This is because I am manifested in the prime of my life as the British Empire, and so I can wield any weapon associated with my legend as a privateer dominating the open seas with my iron fist.”

Alfred nodded along, feeling as if he could listen to Arthur’s lilted voice all day. 

“Without facing them directly in combat, however, it is difficult to ascertain their True Names or Noble Phantasms, which are truly crucial to planning a strategy against them. For example, we would know to target a Servant’s heel if we knew his True Name was Achilles, and if we knew a Lancer-class Servant’s Noble Phantasm was a spear that always strikes true, we would form a plan around disarming them as soon as possible. A class name alone tells us little about a Servant’s capabilities.”

“And then we’re back to square one. Sheesh,” Alfred sighed. “Ugh, I’m really craving some donuts. Or just a latte. Can we just go to Dunkin’ already and plan out our awesome strategy there?” 

“You Americans and your sugary confections,” Arthur snorted. “I would much prefer a cuppa myself, but I suppose one must do as the Romans do while in Rome.” 

“But we’re not in Rome,” Alfred said. 

Arthur shot him a fondly exasperated look. 

“Also, no offense, dude, but you definitely won’t do any blending in with the locals like that,” Alfred pointed out. “Should I get you some clothes before we head into town?” 

Alfred tried his best not to imagine Arthur wearing his clothing. The thought of Arthur wearing one of his sweatshirts made warmth pool in his body strangely. 

“No need for that,” Arthur said, waving his hand dismissively. “I can make myself look perfectly ordinary by changing my Spiritron composition.”

With a flourish of his arm, Arthur’s deep crimson pirate coat and service dress became a distressed shirt and leather pants that clung to his slender body. The thigh-high heels remained, though they turned black to match the rest of his outfit. 

“Woah,” Alfred said, jaw agape. 

If he didn’t look at the golden glow in Arthur’s eyes for too long, he could almost pretend that Arthur was a regular -- albeit distractingly attractive -- guy out on an afternoon walk.

Alfred stumbled over his next words. “You look… good. Like, really good.”

Arthur smirked, cocking his hand on his hip, and Alfred’s heart skipped a beat at the sight. 

“Why, thank you. I’m flattered that a lad with fashion choices such as yours deems mine quite acceptable.”

“Yeah. Acceptable. That’s totally what I meant, dude.” Alfred felt vaguely like Arthur was messing with him, but he didn’t exactly have a good comeback at the ready. Also, he was definitely not busy ogling Arthur’s ass.

Arthur sniffed and held out his hand with the other pressed to his chest like a spoiled prince. “Shall we proceed towards this _Dunkin’_ you speak of, my liege?” 

Now Alfred was _absolutely_ sure Arthur was messing with him. 

“Hey, dude, you knew what a fistbump was, you should know what a Dunkin’ is,” Alfred pouted. “There’s, like, a metric ton of coffee shops around the Clock Tower and I’m pretty sure at least one of them was a Dunkin’.”

“What can I say?” Arthur shrugged. “The Holy Grail taught me how to speak every modern language in the world upon my summoning, and yet it deemed knowledge of American coffee shops unnecessary. I do wonder why.”

“Wait, the Holy Grail does _what_ now?” 

That was the question Alfred asked repeatedly as he and Arthur walked into the town center and ordered donuts and coffee at the Dunkin’ while Arthur did his best to explain the logistics of the Holy Grail War to Alfred.

“So, uh, let me get this straight,” Alfred said between slurps of his iced latte. “The Holy Grail -- or, specifically, the Greater Grail -- summons seven Servants in seven classes contracted with seven Masters to replicate a ritual carried out by the World’s collective consciousness to counter threats to the world itself, except in this case the seven Servants are fighting each other instead of a big bad threat for the sake of winning the Holy Grail, which is, uh, actually a clump of mana that can grant any wish as long as you know the method to achieve that wish…?”

Arthur nodded, curling his lip slightly at Alfred’s slovenly eating habits. “Yes, you can apparently retain some information in that head of yours. I’m duly impressed. You should also know that there should be a Greater Grail somewhere in this city supplying me with mana to keep me incarnated without too great of a toll on my Master, hence my physical manifestation.”

Alfred scratched the back of his head nervously, smearing donut powder in his hair. “Ah, my father’s notes mentioned something about mana transfer between Master and Servant, I think. So that’s how you’re able to physically manifest without me constantly supplying you mana, right?”

Arthur crossed his arms. “Yes. The Holy Grail sends enough mana through local leylines to keep Servants manifested, but if I were to sustain too much damage I would lose my physical form and enter the Lesser Grail -- the cup-like vessel for the Greater Grail -- as fuel to grant the victor’s wish with. Seems like quite an unfortunate fate, if you ask me.”

“No kidding,” Alfred agreed around a mouthful of frosted donut. “I, for one, don’t want you to become soup in a cup. Hey, anyway, how’d you know all this?”

“The Mage’s Association resides within my borders, lad.” Arthur tapped the side of his head with a finger. “All of its deepest, darkest secrets are but an open book to me.”

Alfred’s eyes widened. “Woah. Then, can you tell me something?”

“Your wish is my command,” Arthur said, although his expression drew tight.

“Okay, okay, so there’s this Cause-rank magus in the Astromancy department of the Mage’s Association -- Hanako Aozaki. Do you know her? She’s got long, dark hair and a cute face. God, I miss passing by her in the hallway. Does she like me?”

Arthur smiled at Alfred strangely. “I’m sure this Hanako is very precious to you.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Alfred said, running his fingers through his hair. “She was my _senpai_ in the Clock Tower, you could say.”

Arthur quirked his eyebrow as if he was unsure what to make of what Alfred had just said. “Your _senpai_ , you say.”

Alfred’s face flushed. “I don’t like her in _that_ way, dude. She’s just super duper cool and one of the best magi I’ve ever met and I really, really want to impress her with my Magecraft, so I want to know if she thinks I’m cool. That’s all.”

Arthur smirked, gently teasing. “Heh. You seem to have a bit of a man-crush on her.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

Alfred laughed, meeting Arthur’s wry gaze. “Man, we’re just like a pair of five-year-olds. Two five-year-old peas in a whole-ass pod.”

Arthur laughed along at Alfred’s joke for some reason, as terrible as it was. Alfred felt like he would tell a million more bad jokes just to see Arthur smile and laugh one more time. 

“Want the last donut?” Alfred offered, pushing the Dunkin’ Donuts box towards Arthur’s side of the table.

“No, thank you.” Arthur pushed the box back towards Alfred. “Servants don’t require nutrition, so I’d much rather skip on food altogether than consume that sugary monstrosity.” 

“Your loss,” Alfred said and gulped the donut down in a single bite. “Mmm! That hits the spot.”

“I must have you know, you’re a real glutton,” Arthur said. “You’ll fatten if you keep eating those… _things_.” 

“Hey, if I get fat, maybe I’ll invent a new school of Magecraft that uses belly fat as offense and defense in one! I’ll train a class of magus disciples in my ways as a, uh, _glutton_ , and then you’ll totally ask for my mentorship!”

Alfred expected Arthur to at least smirk at his antics, but instead Arthur’s expression suddenly turned serious.

“Speaking of training, Arthur said. "I propose we head back to your estate so that I may train you in basic combat. There is no guarantee that the enemies we’ll face in this Grail War won’t target a vulnerable Master should they smell weakness.”

“But… I have to warn Matthew that my father’s planning on taking his Command Spells…”

Arthur shook his head. “I’m afraid we cannot take that risk on my conscience as your Servant. I’m sorry.”

“But… But, this is the first time in years that I’m here without my father watching over me!” Alfred buried his face in his arms, knowing he looked childish and weak and yet not caring. “I can’t let him come back and hurt Matthew! This is my only chance to save my brother!”

Arthur placed a placating hand on Alfred’s forearm. “I understand that your brother is the successor to a nearby magus family and that he’s apparently a Master in this Grail War, but we know too little to take a risk by making contact with him, even to merely warn him about a common enemy. Until we know who and what we’re up against, letting him know that you’re also fighting in this Holy Grail War would be ill-advised at best and disastrous at worst. Trust me.”

Alfred tentatively looked up to meet Arthur’s gaze. “But…” 

“Do not worry yourself over it,” Arthur said, tenderly caressing Alfred’s cheek with his hand. “Rest assured, we will win this war and save your brother, lad. You have me at your side, after all.”

“Ah, ah…” Alfred grasped for words, blushing furiously under Arthur’s sincere gaze.

“Oh,” Arthur inhaled sharply, taking his hand back and resting it at his side. “My apologies. Old habit of mine.”

“It’s fine, dude,” Alfred managed, even though his face felt maddeningly warm where Arthur had stroked it. “Should we get going?”

“Yes. Yes, we should.” Arthur said, voice tight. He glanced around, stood up from his chair, and slipped his fingers between Alfred’s underneath the table. “Come with me and be quiet like a good lad.”

Alfred rose uneasily with his fingers hot and clammy against Arthur’s and followed him out of the Dunkin’ Donuts and down a seemingly placid Main Street, perplexed as to what Arthur was so anxious about. The only other people out and about this late in the afternoon were an old lady walking her poodle, a few sweaty-looking joggers, and a man who sat on a bench on the other side of the street seemingly engrossed in a paperback novel. 

“Hey, Arthur, I… Huh?!” Alfred yelped, lurching forward as Arthur suddenly broke into a run towards the end of town with fewer passersby.

“Be quiet!” Arthur hissed. “Stay behind me, lad!”

Alfred closed his mouth, startled into silence by the urgency in Arthur’s voice. 

For a few minutes, Arthur pulled Alfred along through several narrow streets and alleyways, grip tight and nervous, dodging behind streetlamps and mailboxes at a pace Alfred struggled to keep up with. 

Soon, Alfred felt his legs grow numb from exhaustion even as Arthur didn’t seem to tire whatsoever.

“Is everything okay?” Alfred wheezed from exertion. “What’s going on?”

Arthur didn’t answer, instead furrowing his brow and making a sharp turn into a dark corner of the street.

Alfred frowned as they ran together through a dark narrow alleyway for the third time. “Hey, wait, this isn’t the way back to my place.”

Arthur shook his head. “We’ll return there later, lad. For now, we should--”

Before Alfred could even blink, Arthur materialized his cutlass just in time to deflect a slash that would’ve otherwise cut Alfred in half. 

Alfred froze, paralyzed with fear, as a dark-haired man in a blue-green haori and dark montsuki kimono materialized several yards away, a katana raised over his head. Arthur dropped into a defensive stance with his cutlass in hand and stepped in front of Alfred to shield him. 

“Japan -- or, rather, Saber,” Arthur said, sounding distinctly displeased. “I didn’t expect to encounter you here.”

“I could say the same for you, England,” Saber replied. “And as for your Master…”

“Hello, Alfred,” Hanako said, stepping out of the shadows with a small smile, dressed in a resplendent pink kimono that would’ve turned heads if she wasn’t standing in a dark, narrow alleyway. “How pleasant it is that our paths crossed here. Our Servants appear to know each other already, so I suppose no introductions are necessary.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Servant Class: Saber  
> True Name: Japan  
> Master: Hanako Aozaki  
> Noble Phantasms:???  
> Skills:  
> Presence Concealment E - Despite not being of the Assassin class, Saber is able to mask himself from detection. Because this skill is at a low rank, he is still prone to detection by other Servants as well as mages with high-level Magecraft or Mystic Eyes.  
> Parameters:  
> ???  
> A dark-haired man who is apparently a National Spirit representing Japan. He wears a blue-green haori over a montsuki kimono and hakama and wields a katana with dangerous precision. Something about Rider's Master makes him uneasy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight ensues and a mysterious challenger appears on the battlefield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long delay between chapters. I've been busy with IRL obligations (school) as well as writing other fics and making artwork. I do plan on updating more regularly this year, though.
> 
> I'm still at least a little salty I didn't get Napoleon and still haven't gotten any of my target SSRs in FGO since April. Oh well.
> 
> This chapter was beta read by Zo One/Olwyn, who made a lot of good suggestions and helped me make this chapter the best it could be. Hopefully the quality of this chapter will compensate for the wait.
> 
> Check back later or follow my social media to see the promotional illustration for this chapter.

“Hanako?” Alfred cried, incredulous. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you, Alfred,” Hanako replied, her eyes glinting in the late afternoon light. “I came here expecting that I’d encounter mages from American blood lineages, but I did not expect I’d see you specifically. How unpleasant that you have intruded on a sacred ritual with your interloper of a Servant.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alfred waved his hands around. “The Gallofields have a right to the leylines in the area! I live here! And Rider isn’t an interloper, whatever that means!”

“Well, I never suspected that you had the potential to summon a Servant, much less a National Spirit of Rider’s caliber,” Hanako said. She covered her mouth with her sleeve and giggled. “I suppose the Grail works in mysterious ways. Doesn’t it, Saber?”

“I am well aware,” Saber said mildly. He adjusted his grip on his katana. “The Einzbern ritual in Fuyuki some years ago is one example of that. The presence of other National Spirits in this current Grail War is another.” 

“Alfred, be careful,” Arthur hissed just loud enough for him to hear. “Don’t let your past feelings distract you from the threat she and her Servant pose to our victory.” 

The solidified gold nuggets in Alfred’s sweatshirt pockets melted and snaked up his arms, forming a thick layer of Volumen Hydrachrysauem around his forearms and hands. He stepped forward and balled his hands into fists, ignoring the expression of dismay on Arthur’s face.

“Hanako, you’re a better person than this! I know you are! Don’t you remember our time together at the Clock Tower? We knew each other, right? We trusted each other, _right_? So why can’t we work together?”

Hanako laughed like the tinkle of wind chimes. “Oh, you poor boy. You think that I’m not _your_ Hanako because I’m not the pleasant young girl from the Astromancy department. No, this is who I’ve always been, and you were simply too short-sighted to see me for who I am.” 

She pressed her fingers to her lips and smirked. “And working together? There’s nothing I would gain from allying with you that I wouldn’t gain by getting rid of you instead.”

“Don’t call me a boy!” Alfred snapped. He stomped his foot. “And I’m not pitiful! _You’re_ pitiful! How can you talk to me like this? I thought we were friends!”

“Alfred,” Arthur hissed. “There are more important matters to attend to than your sore ego.”

Hanako slid an iron folding fan out of her sleeve and flipped it open, fanning herself delicately. “Rider understands! Oh, what a sensible man you have here, Alfred. You should listen to him.”

Arthur pointed his cutlass at Hanako. “No more small talk. What reason did you have to blindly attack my Master?” he snarled. “You do not seem like a woman who would act on impulse.”

If Hanako felt threatened by the provocation, she didn’t show it on her porcelain-perfect face. “Because removing your Master would also remove you from the Holy Grail War, no?” she said. “Every obstacle in our path to the Grail is a troublesome anomaly. You two are no exception.”

She flipped her iron folding fan closed and pointed it at Arthur. “Saber, go forth. Dispatch Rider now.”

“Yes, Master,” Saber confirmed. Without hesitation, he launched himself at Arthur and slashed downward. 

Arthur blocked his strike with his cutlass. Sparks flew from metal meeting metal.

“Why are you doing this, Saber?” Arthur asked, parrying another slash with the flat edge of his cutlass. “You died in peace without a wish for the Grail. What is in this bloodshed for you?”

“You know my motivations already, just as I already know of yours,” Saber said, deflecting Arthur’s return jab with the edge of his blade. “I fight for my people’s everlasting prosperity, while your wish for the Grail is entirely selfish. Is that not why you fight at _his_ side?”

Arthur drew his lips back. “Why, you…!”

An upward slash of Saber’s blade disarmed Arthur with a resounding clang. His cutlass flew into the air in an arc and clattered to the ground several meters away. 

Before Arthur could lunge for his weapon or summon a new one, he narrowly dodged a slash that otherwise would’ve cleaved his midsection in two. 

He darted forward again but was thwarted by an onslaught of stabs and slashes that kept him at a distance from Saber.

“Your loyalty to him is your greatest weakness,” Saber said between attacks. “And yet, you fight while wearing that weakness on your sleeve. You’re no different from the man I once knew.”

“Arthur isn’t weak!” Alfred cried. “If anything, he’s really strong!”

Saber’s eyes flickered from Arthur to Alfred. He readjusted his grip on his katana and rushed forward.

“I won’t let you hurt him!” Arthur shouted, sliding on his heels in front of Alfred. 

Saber’s katana sliced into Arthur’s shoulder and then pulled back in a smooth motion, bringing forth a spray of blood. Dark stains dripped and bloomed from the wound. 

Arthur grunted and jumped backward, now slightly unsteady. With a twirl of his fingers, he summoned a pair of flintlock pistols in his hands and fired them at Saber. 

Saber blocked one shot with his katana but winced as the other grazed his shoulder. 

“Heh,” Arthur said. “You underestimate me, Saber. It’s been a long time since our alliance, hasn’t it?”

“Indeed,” Saber agreed, readjusting his grip on his katana. “But the past means little in this world. I humbly suggest that you remember that.”

This time Arthur lunged forward with his pistols blazing before jumping back a step when Saber swung his katana between them. With each approach, Arthur slowly backed Saber towards a heap of trash and an overhang. As soon as he was in position, he dashed forward and bounded up onto the rooftops with Saber following in pursuit.

The increasingly distant sounds of Arthur and Saber’s rooftop clash jolted Alfred out of his shock. He turned to meet Hanako’s steady gaze. 

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Hanako,” Alfred pleaded. “It’s not too late yet. Tell Saber to stop fighting already!”

Hanako tapped her finger to her chin as if she were thinking about Alfred’s offer. “I will only do that if you agree to hand over your Command Spells and Servant, thereby forfeiting your right to fight in the Grail War.”

“No!” Alfred shouted.  
  
“Then you are as good as dead to me,” Hanako said, taking a measured step forward across the alleyway. The dull blue-green of her eyes intensified into electric blue as her Mystic Eyes activated.

Alfred held his arms up in a shaky defensive position, uncertainty churning in his gut. _Since when did Hanako have Mystic Eyes?_

Before he could make another move, Hanako materialized in front of him as if she’d been standing in front of him all along.

Alfred grunted in surprise and tried to throw a punch, but Hanako sidestepped easily. With a graceful twirl, she jabbed him in the side with the butt of her iron folding fan. The blow carried so much force that Alfred lurched backward and choked on his own saliva. 

Before Alfred could recover, Hanako grabbed him around the neck with a single hand and pinned him to the wall with an impossible amount of strength.

“How...?” Alfred gasped, weakly kicking his legs back and forth in midair.

“First of all, I possess the Mystic Eyes named Connection,” Hanako explained. “With this power, I can cross any amount of distance as long as I can visualize my destination in my eyes.”

“Let me go…!” Alfred hardened the molten gold enveloping his fists and punched at the hand secured around his throat to no avail.

Hanako dug her fingers into Alfred’s neck, drawing beads of blood to the surface with her sharp nails. “Struggling like a half-dead hare won’t work against me, I’m afraid.”

The sudden jabs of pain from Hanako’s nails broke Alfred’s focus. Without a constant flow of mana, the solid gold reinforcements on his hands liquified. His arms fell limply to his sides.

“That’s not the only power I concealed,” Hanako continued. “This strength comes from the Eastern martial arts that you Western maguses see as beneath your kind. That ignorance will be your downfall.” 

She dragged her iron folding fan along the length of Alfred’s forearm, easily parting the molten gold coating his skin. “Not even a strength-enhancing Mystic Code like your Volumen Hydrachrysaeum can compare to a body trained in Breathing and Walking _._ ”

Hanako’s Mystic Eyes gleamed and flashed. 

Before Alfred knew what was happening, the narrow alleyway melted around them into an indecipherable rush of iridescent colors. 

With another flash of Hanako’s eyes, the colors solidified into a grassy field somewhere outside the town. The din of gunfire and metal hitting metal became soft and distant. 

Now that there was no longer a wall at Alfred’s back, Hanako held him aloft by the neck without showing even a hint of exertion.

“You are very inexperienced, Alfred,” Hanako said breezily. “A Servant as powerful as Rider is a waste in your hands. Rest assured that I will sever your contract with him as painlessly as possible. That is the one mercy I will grant you.”

Alfred grit his teeth. “I still… want… to save you,” he managed. “I don’t… want… your dumb… mercy.”

Hanako curled her lips upward into a wide, thin smile. “No matter what you think of my mercy now, you will beg for it once I’m done with you.” 

She then raised her iron folding fan in the air and unfurled it, displaying a red sun that glinted in the sunlight. “Saber, come to me!”

Pale smoke from some kind of smoke bomb poured into the open field, concealing the nearby buildings and foliage from view until all Alfred could see was a small patch of ground around him and Hanako. 

Alfred strained against Hanako’s grasp as he turned his head towards the noises he could hear growing closer and closer.

Somewhere in the smoke, yellow and orange gunfire popped and crackled from Arthur’s flintlock pistols. A blade -- Saber’s katana -- hummed and whistled through the air, dispelling smoke around it.

Then, silence. 

Alfred unconsciously held his breath. Had Arthur won?

His heart sank when he heard soft footsteps rapidly approaching. 

Saber emerged unscathed from the smoke with his back to Hanako and his katana raised in an attacking position.

Arthur followed close after, emerging from the smoke with his flintlock pistols pointed at Saber’s head. His breathing was heavy and labored as the bloodstain on his shoulder crept down his arm and torso.

“Watch,” Hanako commanded. “With a Master as weak as you at the helm, Rider is no match for my Saber.”

Hanako tightened her grip around Alfred’s neck, holding him steady. With her other hand, she flipped her iron folding fan between her fingers and jabbed Alfred in the side of his body forcefully enough to pierce flesh.

The sudden searing hot burst of pain made Alfred shriek with pain. Blood spurted from the stab wound and soaked through his torn sweatshirt, turning the iron folding fan red and slick.

As if pulled by an invisible string, Arthur wheeled around toward Alfred and cried out in anguish.

“ _Alfred!_ ”

Saber’s katana hummed through the air. With an artful slash, he sliced a line of blood across Arthur’s chest, then another, and another. 

Arthur dropped his pistols and staggered backwards in shock. Blotches of crimson seeped through his wool uniform joining the stain around his bleeding shoulder. 

As Arthur gripped at the deep wounds marking his torso, Saber lunged forward with his katana raised to deliver the final blow.

“Arthur!” Alfred screamed, thrashing within Hanako’s grip. 

Alfred desperately shut his eyes and visualized the flow of mana through the Command Spells engraved on his right arm. 

_Please, don’t die! Stay by my side!_

With a flash of red light piercing through molten gold, the stripes faded from Alfred’s arm. 

Saber’s katana sliced through empty air where Arthur once stood. 

Arthur, now bathed in a red glow from the power of Alfred’s Command Spell, manifested next to Alfred. He kicked Hanako square in the gut with his heel, knocking her backward with enough force to break her grip on Alfred’s neck. 

Suddenly freed, Alfred fell to his knees and coughed blood onto the ground. He could feel his mind slowly refocusing on his surroundings as he continued taking deep breaths. After one more inhale, he unsteadily got to his feet.

“Alfred!” Arthur cried, his body firmly planted between Alfred and Hanako. “Give me as much mana as you can!”

Without any hesitation or fear, Alfred placed his gold-coated hands on Arthur’s back. The mere contact filled Alfred’s body with burning heat, an impossible amount, as mana flooded through Volumen Hydrachrysaeum like a flood bursting through a dam. Blue-green Magic Circuits crackled to life across Arthur’s body emanating outward from Alfred’s hands. 

As Arthur raised his hand in the air, the atmosphere thickened with golden light and mana, dispelling the pale smoke shrouding the field.

“ _The ocean is my strength, my royal domain, my very blood,”_ he chanted.

“No!” Hanako hissed, but a blast of pressure emanating from Arthur’s feet knocked her back before she could use her Mystic Eyes. 

Saber immediately leapt to her side and wrapped an arm around her while holding his katana in a defensive position. Despite his firm stance and defiant gaze, there was visible fear in his eyes.

“ _All the treasures that lay on the Earth's surface will one day rest in my hands._ ”

A cool, pungent sea breeze filled Alfred’s nostrils. He watched in awe as an array of cannons manifested from the light that enveloped him and Arthur. He recognized from the pages of maritime history books the cannons of the HMS Dreadnought, the Golden Hind, the HMS Victory, and many others.

“ _I call upon the brothers-in-arms whose essence has returned to my soil. The glorious sun shall never set on our conquests._ ”

The cannons glowed with a gold luster as they accumulated mana from the atmosphere. The sea wind intensified.

Arthur pointed his outstretched hand at Saber. 

“ _Rule Britannia!_ ” Arthur cried.

Rays of concentrated mana exploded forth from the cannons in a deafening series of blasts. Saber leaped into the air with Hanako cradled under his arm and broke into a run across the open field. 

Each cannon blast sent a shockwave through the earth wherever they struck, sparks and smoke flying forth. 

Saber narrowly dodged each impact as he zig-zagged between fiery explosions and the resulting craters.

Then, one of the mana blasts grazed Saber’s back. Flames and smoke engulfed his blue-green haori. He stumbled from the shock, leaving himself vulnerable to the oncoming onslaught.

“ _Saber!_ ” Hanako screamed. The red light of a Command Spell flashed through the smoke and dust. “ _Shield me and remain manifested in this world!_ ”

“ _Rho Aias!_ ” Saber shouted. A four-petaled pink flower unfurled from his hand, forming a defensive shield between him and the barrage of cannon fire. 

Mana blasts pummelled the shield in pink and gold explosions. Each impact sent Saber and Hanako backward several yards, but the shield held steady. 

Still, the shield wouldn’t hold forever. An especially powerful blast smashed into the shield, shattering one of the petals into dust. 

Another blast hit, and another, and another. Two more petals shattered under the strain.

After one more blast, the last petal of Saber’s shield shattered. Golden light and flames instantly swallowed him and Hanako where they stood.

“That’s enough,” Arthur muttered under his breath. “I won’t drain any more mana from you, Alfred. Your body isn’t trained for this yet.”

Arthur stepped away from Alfred, breaking the flow of mana between them. The vast array of cannons constituting Arthur’s Noble Phantasm faded away into nothingness, leaving behind a cloud of smoke and a crater in an empty field. 

Volumen Hydrachrysaeum shrunk and solidified back into a gold nugget in Alfred’s palm. Without mana flowing through it, it felt cold to the touch as he slipped it into his pocket.

With the connection between him and Arthur now broken, Alfred felt kickback reverberate through his body from temporary mana loss. He stumbled and only found his footing when Arthur silently wrapped an arm around him, keeping him upright. 

For a long moment, the only sounds Alfred could hear were his heavy breathing and a persistent ringing in his ears. The heavy smoke from the impact of Arthur’s Noble Phantasm obscured his view of the crater. 

When the smoke finally cleared, Saber was kneeling in the center of the crater while supporting his weight on his broken katana. His haori and sections of his kimono had been completely burned off his body by the cannon blasts, making him look far smaller than he had seemed in the alleyway. Blood dripped from shrapnel wounds across his face and hands.

Next to Saber, Hanako got to her knees, her resplendent kimono in tatters. Her eyes were their natural blue-green without her Mystic Eyes activated. 

“This isn’t the end of this, Jones,” she spat, then turned toward Saber. “We’re making a strategic retreat, Saber!”

“Yes, Master,” Saber affirmed. He dissipated into his spirit form with a burst of pale smoke.

In a flash, Hanako’s Mystic Eyes reactivated. This time, she looked at a point beyond the decimated open field and blinked into nothingness, leaving behind nothing but the crater and tattered scraps of silk.

“Arthur, we won!” Alfred shouted. He pumped his fists in the air. “Arth--”

A frigid breeze swept over the open field. Snow and ice pelted the ground as a sudden bank of thick fog rolled in. 

Arthur’s face suddenly morphed from relief to barely concealed fear. “Alfred, get in my arms,” Arthur said, his voice measured and even. “I’m getting you out of here. This isn’t a fight we can win right now.”

“A-alright,” Alfred stammered, nervously placing his hands on the sides of Arthur’s body. He could feel his body heat up when Arthur lifted him into his arms in a bridal carry. 

Several hundred yards away, a dark wraith clad in Soviet military robes materialized from the gathered fog. It towered over the distant treetops, resembling a Phantasmal Beast more than an actual humanoid.

At the sight of the wraith, Alfred clung closer to Arthur’s bloodsoaked body and shivered with fear that settled deep into his bones. Frost began to gather at the tips of Arthur’s coat and Alfred’s sweatshirt.

“Russia,” Arthur growled. “You’re certainly not a sight for sore eyes.”

“Long time no see, England,” a soft yet distinctly masculine voice called from somewhere within the frigid fog. “You have grown soft in old age, no? In our day, you would have turned poor Japan into a speck of dust without a second thought. Now, look at you. Your strength isn’t what it used to be after the world ended. How pitiful.”

The dark wraith turned its glowing eyes towards Alfred and Arthur.

“I am more impressed by your little Master over there. He is very strong for a small one, yes? But strong is still not strong enough.” 

A smile spread across the dark wraith’s face.

“Remember this next time you come running into town with your little Servant, human _._ General Winter will be watching.”

A million thoughts raced through Alfred’s head. Russia? The country? Was every Servant in this Grail War a National Spirit? And who the fuck was General Winter? Whoever he was, Alfred wanted to fight him. 

But more urgently, exhaustion was rapidly setting into Alfred’s body as the adrenaline rush from seeing Arthur’s Noble Phantasm in action faded away. Dark spots encroached on his vision.  
  


The blizzard suddenly intensified. A wall of snow obscured the dark wraith from sight, with only the wraith’s distant glowing eyes piercing through the void. 

“Don’t worry,” Arthur said. “I’ll keep you safe. We’ll retreat and face this threat when we’re stronger, A…”

Arthur’s lips moved for a few more seconds and then curved into a soft smile. His words had been drowned out by the howling of the winter winds. Then, he burst into a run, easily carrying Alfred in his arms through frozen fields and forest cover.

As Alfred’s head lolled against Arthur’s lean chest and strong arms, he weakly tried to blink the fog out of his eyes. In his half-conscious haze, he saw Arthur with blood caked on his face, eyes determined, Arthur wrapped in deep crimson, then in strange green khaki, then in unfamiliar dark leather, then in thin threadbare wool, then Arthur looking at him with an unreadable expression, Arthur...

* * *

  
  
  


“Arthur!” 

Alfred jolted upright with a cry of his Servant’s name before bending over into a coughing fit. Blankets and what felt like a hot water bottle weighed down on his legs as he dry heaved. 

When he finally inhaled a deep breath, he felt a hand on his chest holding him steady.

“Arthur…?” Alfred whispered, turning to look into bright green eyes. 

“Everything’s alright, Alfred,” Arthur murmured soothingly, rubbing circles into Alfred’s sternum. “You’re in your bed after you slept through the night recovering from that battle. We’re safe behind your estate’s defensive barriers. I tended to your wounds with the help of your maids and watched over you. You have nothing to worry about.”

“I dreamed of you, Arthur…” Alfred said. Arthur suddenly grew very still. “I saw you. You were wearing some kinda green khaki uniform, and then you were looking at me really intensely, and…”

Arthur coughed. “Ah, well, occasionally Masters may dream of their Servants’ past lives. Seeing as our connection is practically soul-deep, as you might say, there’s little wonder that you may have glimpsed flashes of who I was in another time. I do say that green was a fine color on myself, though I’m still quite fond of the brown uniform I wear in this form.”

Alfred frowned and turned to look at Arthur, wondering if there was something Arthur wasn’t telling him.

At the very least, he could see that Arthur’s wounds had all healed after Alfred had cast his first Command Spell to strengthen him. Having evidently cleaned himself up while Alfred was unconscious, Arthur now wore a simple outfit of a white shirt and jeans that he somehow managed to look rather handsome in.

“I’ll let you sit up,” Arthur said, gingerly removing his fingers from Alfred’s chest. He turned around and rifled through the top drawer of Alfred’s stout little nightstand before holding up a spoon containing a questionable liquid. “Here’s a medicinal mixture that will aid your healing. Drink up.”

The stench of the medicine made Alfred wrinkle his nose with disgust, but he trusted that Arthur had good intentions and wouldn’t poison him with weird British medicine. 

Probably. 

Alfred closed his eyes, leaned forward, and let Arthur tip the medicine into his mouth. As the bitter-tasting liquid slid down his throat, he felt his memories of the altercation with Hanako, Saber, and the mysterious evil Servant come back to him in an intense rush.

“What was that?” Alfred asked once he finished swallowing. He waved his hand around in a vague circle. “You know, all the cool shit you did once I gave you some mana.”

“That was one of my Noble Phantasms, _Rule Britannia_ ,” Arthur explained. “While it didn’t quite finish off Saber, a lesser Heroic or National Spirit would stand no chance of survival against the combined might of my Royal Navy. I was only able to summon a _Rule Britannia_ of that caliber because of the mana infusion you gave me through your Mystic Code as well as the Command Spell you cast on me.”

Alfred nodded. “And how come you and Saber knew each other? I thought Servant identities were supposed to be these whole secret identity things, but you guys recognized each other, like, on the spot.”

“Yes, that is the case usually. But this clearly isn’t a usual Grail War.” Arthur cleared his throat. “Japan -- or, rather, Saber -- was someone I knew during my lifetime. While he manifested in a form earlier than the one I befriended, he still remembered enough about me to exploit my weaknesses. That is the danger of fighting an enemy who knows your True Name.” 

Arthur pursed his lips. “And if my current suspicion that this is a Grail War of National Spirits is correct… every Servant we’ll face in this Grail War will know my True Name.”

“So every fight will be like that,” Alfred said flatly. He bunched the bedsheets up between his fingers. “Arthur, I--I think I’m a burden on you. You should do this without me. I’m not strong, or smart, or capable, or…”

Arthur placed his hands on Alfred’s shoulders. “Alfred. Listen to me.”

Alfred made an undignified noise when he felt the warmth and softness emanating from Arthur’s hands. Still, he looked up and maintained eye contact with Arthur’s determined gaze.

“I swore an oath that I’d protect you as your Servant. I recognize you, and _only you,_ as my Master. My strength is your strength, and your strength is also mine. Understand?”  
  


“Y-yeah, but--”  
  
“That means that I have one request for you: don’t place yourself in harm’s way for my sake ever again.” Arthur tightened his grip on Alfred’s shoulders. “I am your sword and shield. A weapon should protect his master, not the other way around.”

“But that’s not true!” No matter how Alfred felt about himself, he didn’t want Arthur to speak about himself like he was an _object_ and not a beautiful, strong man. “If we’re each other’s strength, then we should protect each other! We beat Saber when I gave you mana, right? Then I just need to keep giving you mana in battle! And since knowing someone’s identity gives you an advantage, and you and Saber knew each other, we’ll be on equal terms with any National Spirit we run into!”

Arthur smiled gently. “You are right about that. Your optimism is rather admirable. As you said, I will also know the True Name of every National Spirit we encounter. And not all of them will know of your own capabilities, which is why we must train your Magecraft as quickly as possible.”

“Yeah!” Alfred agreed, moving to get out of bed. But as he did, he felt a jolt of pain deep in his gut. “Agh!”

“Careful there, lad,” Arthur immediately pressed Alfred back into a reclining position in the bed. “You’re not fully recovered yet.”

“I-- yeah, yeah, right,” Alfred agreed. His face was warm from the skin-to-skin contact. “I’ll be careful. Very careful.”

Arthur patted Alfred’s chest. “That’s a good lad. If there is anything this day has taught us, lad, it is that this is not a normal Grail War. Whoever wins a Grail filled with defeated National Spirits will undoubtedly possess enough mana to remake the entire world in their image. It is up to us to put a stop to that and take the Grail for ourselves.”

Alfred didn’t respond, transfixed by the faint light glowing in Arthur’s impossibly green eyes. Had Arthur been this handsome the whole time?

“But before we do that,” Arthur continued. “I’ll head downstairs and help Layetta in the kitchen. Kitchen work is perfectly dignified work for a gentleman such as myself, before you say anything to the contrary.”

“Wasn’t gonna say anything,” Alfred chirped innocently. 

Arthur smirked. “I do hope you weren’t. My punishment for dishonesty aboard my ships was cutting out the offending bloke’s tongue. Rest well tonight, lad.”

“I sure will!” Alfred replied.

Arthur closed the bedroom door behind him with a smile. 

Alfred spent the next half hour snuggled in his blankets replaying images of handsome, strong, and cute Arthur in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Servant Class: ???  
> True Name: Russia  
> Master: ???  
> Noble Phantasm(s):  
> \- General Winter (EX rank, Anti-Army)  
> A Phantasmal Beast originating from the Age of Gods. It strikes fear into those who gaze upon it.  
> Skills: ???  
> Parameters: ???  
> A mysterious National Spirit whose very presence creates intense blizzards and winter storms. He sees Rider as beneath him and Alfred as a weak yet troublesome anomaly. Little else can be determined about him, as he has yet to reveal his actual body or directly confront his foes.

**Author's Note:**

> Servant Class: Rider  
> True Name: United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland  
> Master: Alfred 'Jones' Gallofield  
> Noble Phantasm(s):   
> \- Rule Britannia (E -> A+ rank, Anti-Army)  
> A Noble Phantasm that calls upon the naval artillery of Britain's most famous and storied vessels to fire upon a target. Depending on the amount of mana used for this attack, Rider can summon a single cannon or an entire national fleet's worth.   
> It seems that this Noble Phantasm is an offshoot of a larger, more powerful Noble Phantasm. It's as if the cannons are attached to phantom ships that require far more mana to manifest than what would be required for this Noble Phantasm's activation. The boundary between the cannons and the actual ships resembles a gate between dimensions.  
> Skills: ???  
> Parameters: ???  
> A golden-haired man dressed in a richly decorated pirate coat and uniform. He has been summoned in the "Rider" class container, meaning that his strongest means of attack is through a mount tied to his respective legend, similar to Saint Martha's Tarasque or Medusa's Pegasus. Though his methods may be brutal and his past mysterious, he swears to protect Alfred and win the Holy Grail War for him no matter what. Apparently, he personifies the United Kingdom, making him an existence different from that of a normal Servant, or Heroic Spirit. He is instead called a National Spirit, qualifying as a Servant recorded in the Throne of Heroes, which is where the souls of qualifying historical and mythological figures are stored, because his country is continuously remembered by generations of men. He is also known by the name "Arthur".


End file.
